Chop, chop, chop. How can they do this? Chop, chop. Shameless, dictatorial, outrageous. Chop chop, no more onions. OK, the tomatoes. Onion tears condense vapour rising from my fury into sweat beads all over my red face. An ugly fountain on the corner of our street has encroached upon the precious little space we had to walk. With footpaths as rare as caviar watching a fat ‘beautification project’ come up on our size zero walkway is unbearable. With few people displaying as much concern as me, I have resorted to some cathartic chopping. The tomatoes are bleeding by now and the pressure cooker is about to blow its lid. But I still have steam to vent. So I decide to grind.
I think I should prepare some super hot kolhapuri chicken rassa for the politician neighbor; thanks to who, this monstrosity of a fountain has usurped a key pedestrian junction. A double dose of garam masala combined with some gun powder chutney podi should serve him right. Oh boy will he need that fountain after that!!
Or should I take the Munnabhai approach to conflict resolution? How about a big jar of strawberry jam to make him see red? Or, some chocolates to make him melt? I know. Fortune cookies with ‘get well soon’ and other nasty notes inside. All right then, it is time for some CSR- Cooking for Sidewalk Revival.
